


Formalities

by Geonn



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Breathplay, Desperation, Dirty Talk, F/F, Formalwear, Frottage, Not Wearing Underwear, Public Sex, Tie Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Maria take a moment to brace themselves for the coming ceremony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Formalities

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fourth Annual Femslash Kink Meme prompt "dress up."

Paparazzi snapped photographs as Natasha climbed from the car, one foot angled onto the pavement and her body levered to unfold herself from the seat with a modicum of energy. She stretched tall and scanned the crowd, and some of those gathered thought that she was reveling in the attention. Fury, a few yards ahead of her on the reception line, looked back and knew better. He saw the calculation in her eyes and the way her hand strayed to the small clutch purse hanging from a silver shoulder strap. She was looking for threats. Looking for a photographer who wasn't a photographer, a reporter holding something more poisonous than a pen. Only when the crowd passed muster did she finally smile.

Technically. Her lips curled slightly, and even the harshest critic would have to call it a smile.

"You look beautiful!" someone shouted, and "Who are you wearing?" and "You sure clean up nice, Widow!"

Her outfit was an armory. Stiletto heels could stab and puncture, stockings bound and could be used as a garrote, as could the strap of her purse. The long string of her necklace could be unlatched, unwound and used as a whip. And her bracelets were a Stark specialty, containing enough of a charge to incapacitate anyone up to four hundred pounds with a single touch. And, as Tony himself said, the plunging neckline was a distraction that assured any red-blooded straight male attacking her would lose a crucial point-oh-two seconds of concentration during a fight. Natasha's life had been saved with less.

The dress was solid black save for a small helix-shaped smear of red that hugged the curve of her hip. The Black Widow, naturally. She withstood the gauntlet of photographers - a fawning Tony Stark whispered in her ear that she couldn't punch any of them, a fact she grudgingly acknowledged - and finally made it into the relative silence of the lobby. She mingled, silently cursing the celebrity being forced upon them. They were soldiers. They didn't need flashy parades and press conferences. They were simply doing a job. Steve told her that discomfort in the limelight was a sign of a true hero. She didn't care. She just wished it would focus elsewhere.

She caught sight of Maria Hill and made her way over, admiring the cut of the other woman's suit. Black on black, the only splash of color being the American flag pin on her lapel. Her hair cut a wedge across her forehead, bound so that it hung over her shoulder in a tame tail. She turned toward Natasha's approach and smiled. The smile was of relief, of compatriotism, of having someone she didn't have to pretend around.

Natasha took Maria's elbow and guided her away from the crowd, moving without comment to those around so they would simply assume it was a matter of grave importance. They stepped into a false corridor, a small walkway behind a half wall. Natasha pressed Maria against the wall, held for a moment so they could be present in the moment, and then kissed her. 

Lipstick smeared and hands roamed expensive cloth, searching for the curves underneath. Natasha cupped Maria's breasts under the concealing drape of her suit jacket, and Maria's fingers dug into the curve of Natasha's ass. Maria's tongue swept Natasha's mouth and then to her cheek, hissing through clenched teeth as she moved to her ear.

"I was hoping you wouldn't be late."

Natasha has a habit of showing up just before the photographers put away their cameras. There would be evidence of her presence, but she would only have to be present for the minimum amount of time before fleeing back to her precious anonymity. These damn Avengers, the fucking publicity machine that made their work possible... she hadn't signed up to be a celebrity. She needed privacy and secrets, and fucking Maria Hill while she heard the clamor of people not ten feet away would suffice.

Maria slipped her fingers under the straps of Natasha's dress, nails scraping her flesh, then she lifted and dropped. Natasha shrugged her shoulders and, with a deft flick of three fingers, Maria had undone the strapless bra and pulled it away from Natasha's full, pink-tipped breasts. Natasha leaned back, pressing her crotch against Maria's hip as Maria bent down and took one hard nipple into her mouth. Her right hand gathered the bra and stuffed it into the pocket of her suit jacket; Natasha knew before their interlude was over Maria would have her panties in the other pocket. She cursed the fact Maria was wearing pants; she remembered shaking the President's hand while the fingers of her other hand traced the moist spot of Maria's wadded up underwear in her purse. 

Natasha's breasts sufficiently tended, Maria straightened and pulled Natasha to her for a kiss. Their tongues dueled and Natasha used the opportunity to undo Maria's trousers. Maria gasped when they parted, and Natasha half-groaned, "You wearing a cock under here for me? Huh?"

"Maybe I'll put one on later. Bend you over my bed..." Maria thrust her chin out, tugging up Natasha's dress and stroking the top of her stockings. "...fuck you until you're begging me to let you come. But I won't, Natasha. I won't let you come until you cry out."

Only Maria knew what that sounded like. Desperation and need, two things very few people associated with Natasha Romanov. She leaned back to get better leverage, grinding herself against Maria's hip. She slid her fingers along Maria's tie, gripping it at the thinnest part and pressing her thumb to the knot. She tugged, it tightened, and the veins in Maria's neck stood prominent as she had to fight a little harder for breath. 

Maria moved her hands to the back of Natasha's thigh, gripped, and began to thrust against her. They could hear people on the other side of the wall. "Cap! Hey, Cap!" and "Ms. Foster! Who are you wearing?" Natasha pressed her thumb down and Maria's face turned scarlet. Natasha rolled her head back and hooked her leg around Maria's hip. "Make me come," Natasha growled, shoving her free hand into Maria's pants. She curled her wrist, pressed the back of her hand against Maria's underwear, and began to rub. "Make me come, Agent Hill. You can breathe when you make..."

They both thrust forward.

"...me..."

They writhed against each other.

"... _come_." She rolled her head back as she came, and she relaxed her fingers. Maria inhaled sharply, a gasp, and slid her hand up to Natasha's ass, under her dress, teasing the curve with her fingers as Natasha thrust wantonly against her. When Natasha leaned forward, Maria put a hand on the back of their head. They pressed their cheeks together, breath heavy in the other woman's ear, gradually slowing until they were back in control.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Maria wet her lips. "You?"

"Yes." She kissed the corner of Maria's mouth, then pulled away from her. She lifted the hem of her dress, took off her wet panties, and presented them to Maria like a trophy. Maria pressed them to her face, inhaled deeply, and slipped them into her empty jacket pocket, the left-hand pocket. Natasha hooked her straps back onto her shoulders, smoothed down the front of her dress, and squared her shoulders. 

They gave each other a once over, declared themselves presentable, and rejoined the party. Natasha slid her arm around Maria's elbow, letting herself be escorted by the gala's most attractive attendee. They greeted well-wishers, smiling to each other when someone bowed to kiss the back of Natasha's hand (did they taste something odd, Natasha wondered). 

Later, at the ceremony, they stood next to one another under the spotlight's glare as the presenter rambled on. If anyone noticed that Maria kept her left hand buried in her jacket pocket the entire time they were on-stage, they didn't mention it in the papers.


End file.
